


Staking Claim

by godotismissing



Series: This Shouldn't Happen to Me [2]
Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Alpha!John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Face-Fucking, M/M, Omega!Harry, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 01:14:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10709061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godotismissing/pseuds/godotismissing
Summary: Set after Desk Job. Harry realises this is more than a one time deal.





	Staking Claim

**Author's Note:**

> What ho. Shockingly I have written a part 2 for this like what am I even thinking. It's from Harry's pov this time and some feelings might have crept in? idek. Thank you for the comments and kudos. Hope you enjoy this!

Harry did not like impromptu team ups, especially not with the local Mob and not with Thomas’ volatile sister, Lara Raith.

“I see you got my message,” Lara said smoothly, rising from her chair.

“If by message you mean blackmail, sure, I got it. Or I wouldn’t be here,” Harry said tightly. He had been in the middle of a case, a proper one for once, when some thugs had pulled the Beetle over, threatened Harry with bodily harm and when that didn’t work, threatened to make Thomas’ life very difficult. That rang all the right bells to Lara Raith’s doorstep. “What’s he doing here?” he asked jerking his head towards Johnny Marcone, who was checking his guns, paying no attention to them but Harry knew better. “I thought you two hated each other.”

He still couldn’t quite meet Marcone’s eyes. After the desk incident, he’d gone home and spent a miserable three days after jerking off and rimming himself with the only dildo he had, sweating and half-crazed with wondering how awesome it would be if he had stayed and let John fuck him through his heat.

Yeah, regrets. Big time. 

Harry should never have let John Marcone bent him over that desk to begin with. Just the memory of it made his gut tighten and hell’s bells, he hoped he wasn’t blushing.

Marcone seemed thoroughly composed, decked out in tactical gear and kevlar which meant this was personal business. And the asshole was still ignoring him. 

Lara’s perfectly arched eyebrows shot up and she swivelled her head to study them both, before shrugging. “Hate is something that doesn't exist in a professional capacity. Our interest happened to align at the moment, Dresden. Believe me if I thought you would turn up without any prompting, I would have called. But we both know you need a heavy hand,” she crooned, eyes misting over with the faintest of silver.

Harry seethed as his pulse quickened with an unnatural want for her, lust and arousal briefly heating his blood. White Court vampires had no secondary gender and didn’t need it since everything was fair game to them. He shook her off. “If you want my help, you’re going to have to cut that out,” Harry snapped. “Now what’s this about?”

“Three of the employees from Executive Priority have been missing since last week,” Marcone replied, eyes tracking Lara momentarily before landing on Harry. “Ms Raith’s people as well. I have traced their last known whereabouts to an abandoned building on the outskirts of the city. We’re hitting it tonight. Hopefully, someone will still be alive.” His green eyes were hard. Something or someone else was at stake here. John Marcone always took a personal interest in the welfare of his employees so maybe one of those missing was a relative of his men, come begging for help.

“Missing huh. And all these missing people… were they omegas?”

Lara’s lips pursed in surprise. “How did you know that?”

“Private investigator, remember? It just so happens I’m dealing with a missing case as well. There’s been a couple recently that I know of, all omegas. The police thinks they’re runaways,” Harry said, watching John closely. “My client’s sister? She’s fifteen.” He had promised he would find Maria Stanford’s sister but she had been gone for three days and the chances of her turning up alive was slim. There was nothing distinctly supernatural about this case but scrying had not turned up anything which was seriously baffling. “So how did you find the perp’s place? Who is he?”

“It’s called pooling resources,” Lara said. “We don’t know who it is yet or what they want. All we know is that it’s heavily guarded so probably a gang out of Chicago. This is your lucky day, Dresden. We’ve done all the work for you and invited you to the party.” She turned to strap on her swords, looping her hair into a tight bun.

Marcone got to his feet, sliding a magazine into his semi-automatic H&K. “Let’s go.”

\-- 

It turned out to be so much worse than Harry expected. He was used to crazy people doing some weird shit for power, or monsters that just wanted to rip someone to pieces and eat them but this was a nightmare enterprise.

The supernatural element was pretty low - just a wannabe wizard who was really good at hiding a place from magical prying eyes which was the reason why Harry couldn’t pick up anything through scrying. After a nasty fire-fight against twenty-odd people, some remarkably durable alphas they broke into a processing lab which looked more like an abattoir. 

The omegas were all dead - some bodies buried in some freshly dug shallow pit, others laid out on a steel table. Their slick-producing glands had been removed to create some sort of pheromone drug which sent half the alphas on Marcone’s team into a rut frenzy. It was a fucking mess and by the end of it, Harry was too disgusted and tired to stop Marcone from wiping out the shitheads who ran the operation. 

He still called the police a.k.a Murphy because this thing sounded a lot bigger than just a one-time experiment in an abandoned building. Not looking forward to telling Maria about her sister but Harry hadn't seen a body so it would be down to the station tomorrow - there was still hope if she wasn't among the dead.

“Cops on their way,” Hendricks warned, throwing Harry an aggravated look as he directed their men to take the injured and get the fuck out. Lara swept pass, dress stained red and not even grinning after her spree of bloodletting. She looked disturbed if anything.

Marcone had his back against a car, breathing heavily, eyes closed.

“Get in the car, Dresden,” he said when Harry approached. “We’re leaving in five.” Harry was about to make some snide comment but then, John’s eyes shot open and he felt his words die in his throat. Marcone’s green eyes were blazing and he looked, hell, he looked hungry and maybe he wasn’t aware of it, but he was projecting a will so strong, it made Harry want to drop to his knees then and there. Saliva was pulling in the back of his mouth. Harry swallowed, fought it, and let out a shaky breath.

Marcone seem to realised the effect he was having and looked away. “Get in the car.”

Harry could stay and argue, just to show he didn’t need to listen to any alpha’s command, least of all Marcone’s. But the smart thing to do was to get in the damn car.

They dropped half the team off at one of Marcone’s safe houses, a centre for the care of the elderly which doubled up as a private hospital while the other half of Marcone’s gang headed to another safe house with instructions to lay low. Lara left them for one of the Raiths hidey-holes in the city wherever that was.

“They’re gonna put up roadblocks any moment now,” Hendricks said.

“Then I trust you’ll get us home by then.”

“Well, before that, maybe you could drop me off?” Harry suggested, he met Hendricks’s gaze in the mirror but couldn’t understand why he looked so annoyed. He wasn’t even asking for a ride home. Surely Hendricks realised a high-strung alpha in the same enclosed space as an omega was a Bad Idea. It was Sex Education 101, unless as a beta, Hendricks didn’t get all those extra classes alpha and omegas were put through. Harry never got them either but wasn’t it common sense?

“Hendricks,” Marcone said warningly.

“We’re ten minutes away from your house. I’m not doubling back. We’ll put him up for the night and he can leave in the morning. Boss,” he added as an afterthought. What a douche. Harry settled back with a sigh. After what he had seen tonight, he wasn’t in the mood for further confrontation. 

Fifteen minutes later they were pulling into the driveway of a two storey modern manor just out of city centre. “Nice digs?” Harry hazarded when he entered, taking off the duster and leaning his staff precariously against the wall. Marcone had disposed the kevlar in the car and Hendricks had vanished saying he had some things to deal with. The place was nice, very modern and sleek and filled with furniture Harry could never afford. He reminded himself these were all bought with money from illicit businesses and there was nothing to be impressed about. At all.

Marcone crossed quietly to sit on the couch, started to unlace his combat boots. 

“I’ll... er, I’ll just.... yeah,” Harry gave up. Nothing like that rapid fire Dresden wit to elevate an awkward situation. He badly needed a shower, not to watch John Marcone methodically remove his shoes. 

He didn’t move.

Marcone looked up, caught Harry’s eyes, his own face passive and unreadable. It lit a knot of nervous fire low in his stomach. _Stars and stones_. He had told himself that if there was going to be a repeat performance, it was only because Harry needed someone to help him deal with his heats. He wasn’t in heat now, not even close. There was no reason for the arousal lighting up his veins, the heat of it spreading through his chest and making him flush. 

“Come here,” Marcone said softly.

Harry’s palms were sweating and he wiped them on his jeans. Somehow he found himself crossing the room to stand over John, who let his legs fall open, invitation and challenge hot in his gaze. Where so many alphas took, John was offering. Harry could take this or he could walk away.

Pulse beating a staccato rhythm in his throat, he sank slowly to his knees, keeping their gazes locked. John made no move to touch him so Harry took a shaky breath and ran his hands over calves to muscled thighs, feeling them flex and tense. He felt dazed, like he was caught in a stupor - fingers moving on their own to unzip John’s pants and tug his underwear down to reveal the hard length of him, curving upwards, red and leaking at the tip. The musky alpha scent of him had Harry swallowing a whimper. It was like his brain was short circuiting because suddenly nothing seemed more appealing than having John’s cock in his mouth. 

Eyes closed, he edged forward until John’s knees were a warm bracket against his shoulders. Harry licked the underside - hot and silky against his tongue - tracing the vein before sucking on the tip, groaning at the bitter masculine tang.

The slight change in John’s breathing was the only warning he got before John jerked forward. Harry’s eyes flew open, tried to pull away but was stopped by rough fingers curling around his head to hold him still. Faintly he registered John was still wearing gloves - then he was choking, saliva dribbling down his chin, as the hot length of John’s cock hit the back of his throat. Harry groaned around a mouthful of cock. John stilled, giving Harry time to breathe through his nose. 

He responded with a warning scrape of teeth but John made a soft wrecked sound, fingers tightening and god, he _looked wrecked_ , hair sticking to his brow, green eyes fever bright and wild. The way he was staring - Harry felt the familiar slick-slide wetting his jeans. He groaned again, had to close his eyes, fought John for a moment, unwilling to give in. But the hands on his head were like iron, though one of John's thumb was pressing into the hollow under Harry’s cheekbone, warning or comforting he couldn’t tell.

Very slowly and deliberately, John dragged Harry's head forward until he was buried in coarse hair. Harry realised he was whimpering but he couldn’t stop, his own cock pressed flush and painful against the seam of his jeans. He liked this. Fucking hell, this cavemen alpha act was doing it for him. He was so wet he could feel slick running down his thighs.

“That’s right, Dresden,” John breathe. “Relax.” And Harry did, bracing his hands against John’s knees and melting into the slow but punishing rhythm John set, each thrust pushing deep till the point of gagging. Sweat and tears were running down his face, his clothes felt too tight, hell his skin felt tight and he wanted, needed to come but _it wasn’t enough_. His jaw was starting to ache, could taste copious amount of precome trickling down his throat, and he spluttered, whining low in his throat. John was close, Harry could smell the heightened scent of it in the air. He hollowed his cheeks, tried to suck but John was dragging his head back, cock popping out, trailing spit and come.

Harry sat back on his haunches, open-mouthed and dazed, gasping as he watched John grip the base of his swollen cock, wrist twisting.

Hot streaks of come splattered his face and throat. For a moment Harry was too stunned to react. “Did you just-?” he whispered hoarsely, stuck between surprise and annoyance. His throat was sore, raw from the abuse, and the words came out in a broken stutter.

Marcone was breathing raggedly, staring down with lips parted and pupils blown. He felt John’s hand cupping his jaw, the whisper rasp of his gloved thumb dragging through the cooling come then the demanding press of it against his lower lip. He was decidedly not thinking as John slid his thumb in, rubbing come along his tongue until Harry sucked it clean, faint trace of metal, blood and leather. It was disgusting - he really shouldn’t have found it so damn hot.

John drew his thumb back, brought his hand to his teeth to tug the glove off while Harry yank off his shirt, wiping come from his face along the way. “A little warning next time would be nice,” he grumbled, voice cracking at the end. He just didn’t want John to think he had him in complete thrall. Harry was calling the shots here and if he was going to get a facial, he wanted it to be upon request. 

“Noted, Mr Dresden,” John’s smile was all sharp edges but the bright wire-tight energy around him had settled. Yeah, who was Harry kidding? He liked it, god knows why, and they both knew it.

‘I don’t suppose you’re up for round two?” Harry asked, shucking off his jeans and boxers and straddling John, who made a low appreciative hum, one hand resting against Harry’s hip and squeezing. “I could always, you know,” Harry said, waving his fingers.

“As much as I appreciate the offer, I'd rather you not set my extremities on fire.”

“Oh come on - “

“Up,” John said, petting Harry’s ass so he had to bend forward, wrapping his arms around John for balance. He buried his face in John’s neck, scenting him and trying not to be obvious about it. John smelled like wild grass and clear night air, sweat and blood, and quite terrifyingly, he smelled like safety. The recognition left him light-headed, and though he was still hard and still slick he was also tempted to just curl up in John’s lap for the rest of the night. Which was another thought that screamed Bad Idea.

He groaned softly when he felt one of John’s hand settle heavily on the back of his neck, the other working two fingers into him easy.

“More,” Harry croaked, rocking back, trying to drive those fingers deeper. John slid in a third finger that had Harry’s breath hitching when he brushed against the tight bunch of nerves inside him. Shocks of pleasure raced down his spine. But it really wasn’t enough, not nearly enough to stop him from thinking - really why did Harry’s brain hate him so much - of all those omegas, butchered and dead, harvested for their some random biological part of them they’d never asked for. Not fucking enough. The images were really not something he wanted to remember at this point. “Fuck,” he hissed and let out a startled gasp when John shoved him back-first onto the couch, leaving him feeling empty and twitching.

“ _What the hell?_ ”

“Shut up,” John said, pushing back in with a different hand, adding a fourth finger which stretched and burned in all the right ways. He wrapped his slicked up hand around Harry’s cock and tugged roughly, just riding the edge of pain, thumb brushing the crown before rubbing over the slit. Then he was fucking his fingers into Harry brutal pace that had him squirming, gripping John’s arms so he could thrust back down.

“John, I think I’m gonna -”

“Not yet.” He squeezed the base of Harry’s dick while at the same time his fingers pressed and rubbed inside him just right there. It had him arching off the couch in a breathless whine.

“ _Oh fuck_ , fucking hell -” Harry moaned. He could feel fat drops of precome dribbling down his cock, the solid warmth of John’s weight bearing down on him as he withdrew his fingers and that was really unfair. 

John shoved the fingers into Harry’s mouth, filthy with his own slick - god, this was how he tasted - sucking on them reflexively. John was bending him almost in half, warm breath on Harry’s collarbone and he jolted at the first touch of teeth against his throat. The bite hurt, no pretense of play behind it but Harry let his head fall back, baring the line of his throat, welcoming it. It sent sparks of bliss thrumming through his blood - this primal act of marking. John’s grip on his cock went slack and Harry came in a silent groan around John’s fingers, white hot, punched out pleasure that held him adrift, loose and pliant.

He blinked, breath evening out slowly, John had rolled off him, tucked himself in, black shirt covered in traces of Harry’s orgasm. For a guy who just had fantastically good sex, he didn’t look all that thrilled. In fact he was looking at Harry a little warily, the same look he had when he was deliberating if saying something would be worth the fallout.

Nope. Harry didn’t want to know what John was thinking. If he had any opinions about what just happened he could keep them to himself. And no way was he going to let this awesome afterglow get ruined by awkward silences.

He coughed. “You need to stop with the manhandling.” 

“You like it,” John answered. Maybe he did like it a bit but John shouldn’t be saying it like it was a fact. Harry scowled.

John’s face cleared and he exhaled softly, eyes darkening. Took a while for Harry to realise he was studying the bruise on his throat. He tilted his head back a little so John could trace the set of teeth prints, hissing when a thumb dug into the flesh. They felt tender, the soft sting causing his spent cock to twitch. Shit, he did like being manhandled.

He could do this. Casual sex with a mobster. No need to get attached. So long as they didn’t make it a thing. “I need a shower,” Harry said, pushing himself up with a wince, feeling suddenly weary, sticky and distinct uncomfortable feeling that he needed to get away. “So do you. And that was not an invitation.”

“Dresden,” Marcone said, catching his wrist “This doesn’t have to be… difficult.”

“Um, yeah, I know. I just - you’re right.“ Wrong. He knew this was going to end in the worse way possible. But they already wanted to kill each other half the time so how much worse can it get if it all blew up in Harry’s face?

Marcone leaned close and Harry’s heart rate spiked. “Then I will see you after your shower.” He pulled away and smirked. “On a bed this time.”

**Author's Note:**

> this might actually turn into a series. Welp.


End file.
